


Over and Out

by sksdwrld



Series: Rock the Cradle [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidents, Depression, Gen, Hospitals, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshall wakes up from his accident...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over and Out

From nothingness, there came a spark and it bloomed until Marshall became aware of himself. The world behind his eyes was a dark haze, fuzzy and thick. Transitioning from awareness to consciousness, though, was like struggling to wake from a nap on a hot summer day.

There was a hair laying across his eyes, but he couldn't seem to lift his hand to brush it away. Likewise, he couldn't turn his head, nor stretch his legs, and the longer he dwelled on it, the more he had the sensation of being a floating head.

Marshall tried to focus on his surroundings, but there was only the rumbling buzz of voices on the t.v. and that didn't tell him anything about his location. A few minutes later and he caught the passing babble of a woman speaking Spanish, and struggled to place himself. Where had he been and what had he been doing? His memories were a jumble.

The Spanish echoed in the distance and he couldn't stay quiet this time. "Lainey?" His words were muffled and slow, his tongue thick.

"Marshall!" The voice belonged to his mother and was accompanied by a chair scraping across the floor. He felt one of her hands touch his left cheek, her lips meet the other one, and something akin to pressure on his right shoulder. "Oh my God, Marshy-baby..."

Marshall tried to hug her but couldn't and on opening his eyes, saw only the ceiling past the halo of his mother's blonde hair. "Mom? I can't move, why can't I move?!"

"Oh, Baby, I don't even know how to tell you this..." Eddie pulled back to look at him and there was devastation written all over her face. "You had a...an accident while you were surfing and- and the doctors said that you that you sustained a...that your broke your...your back."

Reeling but incapable of escaping the moment let alone himself, Marshall squeezed his eyes shut again. "No. Dad! Where's Dad?" His father would fix things, tell him that his mother was wrong, get the doctors to make everything okay.

Eddie's voice warbled slightly. "He went out for a cigarette with Elliot to try and calm him down. He's freaking out. They both are. We...we all are."

" _Elliot_ is here?" Marshall said in amazement as he slotted his eyes open again and peered around the upper half room, which, as far as he could tell, was about as typical as hospital accommodations got.

"He was on a plane as soon as we told him...of course, he can't go fifteen minutes in the room here without breathing into a paper bag or puking, but yeah, he's here."

Marshall was silent for a minute. Processing all of this information at once was hard and painful. He blurted again, "I want to see Dad. I need Dad!"

Eddie blinked back tears and nodded, softly patting his hair. "Okay, alright, we'll get him in here. Try to stay calm, Baby, I know it's hard." She pulled out her phone, dialing as she perched on the edge of the bed and took his hand.

Marshall could only tell because he saw it, not because he felt it, and the realization made him sick. For a moment, he wondered if he would actually choke on the bile that was rising in his throat, although he managed to swallow it down.

While Marshall couldn't make out his father's words over the phone, the anxiety in his voice was clear. Then Eddie spoke. "No, Sug, no. Nothing like that. He's awake! He's asking for you..." There was the briefest rumble of a response and then Eddie pulled her phone away, glancing at the screen. "He's on his way."

A few minutes later, Matt burst into the room, breathing like he'd run a marathon and clutching his side as he made he way to the bed. He looked like he was about to scoop Marshall up into a hug the way he did when Marshall was little but at the last minute, held back, taking Marshall's other hand between his two.

"Dad!" Marshall whined, and then started to cry because what good was the comfort of touch when he couldn't feel a bloody thing? "I can't feel my hands, I can't feel anything! Is this going to be forever? Dad? Dad, I can't do this! What happened? Dad, help me, please!"

Marshall had never seen the look that crossed over his father's face before, but as tears slipped down Matt's cheeks, Marshall realized what it was. Futility. Helplessness. Frustration. Sorrow. Loss. His father had always been able to fix everything. He could make anything better, but not this.

"Marshall..." Matt said, then shook his head and looked away, knuckling the tears from his eyes. "I love you so much..."

There it was. The 'There's nothing I can do for you but I still love you' speech. It had loomed over his head as a threat during his wilder teenage years, meant to be a deterrent from going down the same mistaken path his parents had.  _One of these days, Marshall, you're going to get yourself into the kind of trouble that I can't fix. I'll always love you, and I'll always be there for you, but life has consequences and they'll catch up with you if you're not careful..._

A broken sob escaped Marshall's throat. He was only twenty six. He had a promising career as an actor. He had his whole life ahead of him, but now it was cut short. "I don't want to be a fucking vegetable! Help me! You have to help me..."

"Pal, I don't know what I can do. Tell me if you know, because I don't have any answers right now."

"T-touch my face!" Marshall demanded through tears. "It's the only part I can feel. Put your hand on my face, please!"

Matt obliged him, cupping his cheek too gently. But then he lowered his head, crying behind his other hand as if he couldn't stand to look at his own son. Marshall tore his eyes away from him and looked to his mother. She was crying with her head bowed too, little sniffles escaping her though he could tell from the way her chest was hitching that she was holding back sobs.

Marshall's eyes rolled around the room in desperation. Beyond his father, beyond the door, there was a slim, pale arm, the edge of a green polo shirt, and one khaki covered leg. "Elliot!" Marshall called. He was the one person who would possibly have answers when no one else did.

Elliot half-turned, looking over his shoulder and into the room. His face was blotchy and wet, eyes puffy. He looked sick. Marshall reminded himself that Elliot was the least stable person here; his mother said he'd been a mess since arrival. Where his parents had been strong up to this point, Elliot had long crumbled.

No one had answers. No one had hope. Marshall closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the collective grief of them all.

***

A short while later, Marshall was able to meet with his doctor, who told him that the majority of the damage had been done to his lumbar spine and his current immobility and lack of sensation was due to the swelling of his spinal cord, which was pinching off the nerves. They called it spinal shock and it could take up to six weeks to subside. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to tell how extensive the injury was until the swelling went down.

It was better than expected, but not as much as he'd hoped for and after the doctor had gone, Marshall was left again with a feeling of despair. When the news came on, Marshall caught mention of his name but his mother was already changing the channel. He snapped at her to turn it back and then watched in mute fascination as some of the guy's faces he recognized from the beach came onto the screen, recounting the way they'd watched him fall and not get up; the way they'd found him floating, face down and tangled in his cord.

 _Do you think inexperience had anything to do with this tragic accident?_ the reporter was asking.

The others had his back, though. _Naw, man. We see him out there all the time, different beaches, different waves, doin' his thing. It was just a fluke man, a crazy, (censored) fluke._

"Cosmic joke," Marshall muttered as the newscaster went on about the lack of news or updates from the family. He shut his eyes. "Call them and tell them I'm dead."

"Why would I do that?" Eddie asked wearily.

"Because it's closest to the truth."

"Marshall..." she sighed. "I know that things look really bleak right now, but give it time. You could make a full recovery."

"Yeah, sure. A _miraculous_ recovery. It's equally as likely that I'll suffer extensive nerve damage and and never regain any motor control at all and I'll be a washed up has been that everyone pities because I can't feed myself or wipe my own ass," he rolled his eyes.

"That's an awfully defeatist way of looking at things. What happened to that Zen, _everything happens for a reason, accept things for what they are and find beauty in all things_ mantra you had going for you?"

Marshall felt his mother's fingers sifting through his hair and was quiet for a moment while he thought about what Zen had meant to him. There were eighty year olds in his yoga class who seemed to have a handle on life. Eighty year olds in great shape, doing yoga and tai chi and drinking green tea like it was the fountain of youth. Well, he wouldn't be one of them now and it seemed silly to make a comparison between them.

"It's a bunch of bullshit," he finally sneered. "A bunch of LA, celebrity fad bullshit for people who don't know what hardship is until it smacks them in the back with a fiberglass board and shatters their dreams along with their spinal column.

"Marshall..." Eddie started.

"Don't!" Marshall flinched at the sound of his own tone. "Just don't. I don't want to be consoled. I don't want to be anything right now. You don't know what it's like to lose everything!"

"That's enough, Marshall..." Matt warned from his chair. He sounded pretty defeated himself. "Everyone in this room knows what it's like to hit rock bottom, and let me tell you something..."

Marshall knew what was coming. His father was about to say, 'and this isn't it'. And fuck that, because what the he'll did he know about being completely trapped inside his own body, relying on everyone to do everything for him, right down to the most basic functions? About the sense of hopelessness that was growing inside of him with every waking moment. His upcoming movie deal was going to be cancelled and he'd probably never act again. His livelihood was gone in the blink of an eye and he couldn't even remember how it happened.

"Shut up," Marshall interrupted his father before he could finish.  "I haven't had a minute to myself since I came to. Everyone coming and going and crying and pretending to be uplifting for the  sake of the poor cripple...I'm sick of it. Aren't you? For fuck's sake, I just want to be left alone!"

"Marshall," Matt reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

"I said get out!"

Elliot was the first on his feet and with only a lingering look of what Marshall guessed was pity, he was gone. Eddie was not so easy to get rid of and required Matt's patient coercion. "He's right, Bess. Give him a few minutes alone to sort things out..."

"But what if he needs something?" She demanded, digging her heels in. "Matt, we can't just leave him alone!"

"He's a grown man in a hospital full of highly capable staff. I'm sure he'll figure it out, love." Matt shifted her closer to him and rubbed her shoulder. "Come on, we'll have a smoke and stop by the canteen and then we can see where things are at."

Marshall ignored the reluctance on their faces and the pang of guilt in his heart as they shuffled out. They loved him, he knew they did, but he couldn't help the bitterness that washed over him with each expression. How could they love him now? He wasn't even half of a functioning man and it was difficult to find hope that he ever would be again.

For a few minutes, Marshall revelled in the relative quiet. There was still the murmur of the television, but no more soft conversation whispering around him when he refused to participate, no wisp of the paper turning, no invisible tension thickening the air. Then, the prickle of an itch started on his brow where his limp hair brushed it. He directed a guest of air upward but only succeeded in loosening an entire lock that fell into his eyes. He gave a frustrated shake of his head but the neck brace didn't give him the full range of motion he needed to dislodge it. After another minute, Marshall's eyes were full of his own hair and he gave up the struggle, too proud to call for help over something so small. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else other than the hundreds of stupid things he had taken for granted since birth.

Time passed; hours or minutes, Marshall couldn't be sure, but he sparked up hopefully when then door swung open. Two nurses, or maybe a nurse and an aide, came in and introduced themselves as Traci and Brian. After clearing the hair from his face and documenting his vitals, they announced their true purpose.

"Alright, Marshall. I know you've been having a rough time with things the last couple of days and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's been a couple of days since your last bowel movement so we're going to have to help you out a little bit..."

Marshall hadn't thought that things could get much worse, but hearing that made him sink a little lower into himself. "What would happen if you didn't?"

"All sorts of nasty things like fecal toxicity or impaction. If you get impacted now, there's a good chance you'll lose bowel control which won't be pleasant when you do regain some of your motor and sensory function. Think of it as a necessary evil," Traci said with a pat to his shoulder. "Brian and I have done this thousands of times for hundreds of patients and I promise you, we're very professional. I know it seems undignified, Marshall, but we really do have your best interests in mind."

Swallowing, Marshall acknowledged her with a nod and then averted his eyes to the ceiling. The two of them wedged a board beneath him and strapped him to it, using it as leverage to roll him side to side while they laid disposable pads beneath him. He tried not to look as the nurse donned gloves and scooped a wad of vasoline onto her forefinger although he was thankful he didn't feel anything, not even the 'bit of pressure' she warned him about.

"We'll give you some privacy and we'll be back in about half an hour or so to clean you up. In a couple more weeks, you'll be stable enough to sit on the commode but until then, this will have to do." Traci peeled off her gloves and sanitized her hands using the alcohol pump on the wall. "Is there anything else I can do for you before we go? Change the channel? Open the blinds?"

"No," Marshall replied quietly. "Thank you."

When all was said and done, Marshall was burning with shame. He didn't want his parents to come back in, but they did anyway, and when his mother embraced him, he sagged against her, a few tears escaping and wicking into her shirt.

As Eddie pulled back, Marshall looked defeatedly at his mother. "Mom, I need you to shave my head."

"Oh, Marshy..." she sighed and ran her fingers through his hair, picking the strands apart.

He knew what she was thinking. He was ten the last time he'd let her near him with her electric shears and after that, he'd gone to barber with his father, preferring to keep his hair long. He'd suffered a lot of teasing over the years and nothing save his career could make him cut it. He certainly never would have agreed to a buzz cut, but now he could see it was going to be a necessity.

Eddie played with his hair for another minute and then smoothed it down before kissing the top of his head. "I'll have Emma run them over this afternoon. She's been wanting to see you. The twins too."

"No," Marshall replied stubbornly. "I don't want to...I don't want anyone else to see me like this. It's bad enough you have."

"We're family, Marshall. We all care about you.  Your brothers and sisters just want to show their support."

"I'd rather they didn't. I don't want to be an object of pity."

"For fuck's sake, Marshall!" Eddie bit out as she ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the ends.

Marshall's shoulders twitched. That was as close as he got to reaching for her and telling her not to. She didn't notice, and it was over so fast that Marshall couldn't tell if he'd actually moved a fraction or if it was just a muscular response. Tears welled up in his eyes and he closed them again. Everything was pain and everything was numb. It was a shitty dichotomy to be stuck in.

Not much later, the nurse returned, bringing with her the medication that dulled the last of his physical sensations and subdued the angry protest in his mind. It made things a little more tolerable for his family but it made him feel like he was losing the last vestiges of himself, succumbing to the vegetable state. They wanted him to be a docile cripple. He refused the pill.

 

***

Marshall had been conscious for seven days when it happened. In the early morning hours, with only the hazy sunrise for company, a shudder-inducing scritching sound jolted him from a lazy doze. A minute later, he heard it again. it was like someone dragging their fingernail across the starched sheets tucked around him. He glanced around, wondering if his mother had shown up early with the kids in tow. Playing _fuck with the cripple_ was exactly the sort of thing Kal would do. But his mother would have announced herself by now; wouldn't have sent the twins on without her.

"Who's there?" He asked quietly, afraid of getting caught talking to himself.

The only response was a soft clang, like knuckles rapping on the metal guardrails on one side of the bed. That was Elliot's nervous habit, but he rapped out a tuneless pattern, so unless he was passed out and flopping on the floor, it wasn't him either.

Marshall's heart beat faster and it was absolutely silly but he was freaking himself out. Next, the sheet on his chest started to bunch. From the very bottom of his field of vision, he could see movement. He held his breath as the offending party inched higher, clutched at the hospital gown and tugged. Then, Marshall's own right hand thumped back down onto his chest and he startled in surprise.

There was still a distinct lack of sensation below his neck and his hand seemed to have a mind of its own, but when Marshall concentrated on on balling his fingers into a fist, they slowly complied. He lifted his left hand, pushed his palms together, then touched his own face. Never mind that each movement was jerky, uncoordinated, and without feeling; this was the first time in days that he'd moved anything other than his head.

It wasn't long before he exhausted himself however, and had to take a rest. When he woke again, his father was in the chair beside him, staring bleakly into space. Marshall concentrated on moving his arm and sent it flopping against Matt's shoulder. "Hey...what's a guy gotta do for a cuppa around here?"

"Meatball..." Matt stammered, grasping Marshall's fingers in amazement. "You're...you..."

"Yeah..." Marshall breathed and smiled.

The tears in his father's eyes mirrored his own, and Matt pressed his lips to Marshall's knuckles. Marshall didn't have the heart to tell him that he still couldn't feel a damned thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Foo Fighters song of the same name...
> 
>  
> 
> Restless little one  
> Comfortable and warm  
> Let me fall apart  
> Crippled in your arms
> 
> Chase me through the dark  
> Ready on your mark  
> First to reach the stars  
> Wins a broken heart  
> One that broke apart  
> Shattered from the start
> 
> Are you there?  
> Do you read me?  
> Are you there?  
> I don't feel you anymore
> 
> Cages and alarms  
> Keeping us from harm  
> I will be the guard  
> Hope to rest upon
> 
> Could I be the one  
> To break a will so strong  
> Pray it won't be long  
> Til your will is gone  
> Everything is done  
> Nothing left at all
> 
> Are you there?  
> Do you read me?  
> Are you there?  
> I don't feel you anymore
> 
> Are you there?  
> Will you give in?  
> Are you there?  
> If I give out  
> Over and out
> 
> Cages and alarms  
> Keeping us from harm  
> I will be the guard  
> Hope to rest upon  
> Everything is done  
> Nothing left at all
> 
> Are you there?  
> Do you read me?  
> Are you there?  
> I don't feel you anymore
> 
> Are you there?  
> Will you give in?  
> Are you there?  
> If I give out


End file.
